The Haunting
by pestilencex
Summary: Tokio Hotel TomxBill. After getting kicked out of his house, Tom moves into the cheap, run down apartment across town, and soon discovers a frightening secret as to why no one ever stays; that someone... or something is already inhabiting his apartment.
1. Chapter 01: A Scream in the Night

**The Haunting**

**Chapter 01: A Scream in the Night**

Tom looked up at the old building in front of him, set on the corner of the dark street, and flicked several sandy blonde dreads over his shoulder. The nineteen year old sighed, hiking his bag higher up onto his shoulder, as tiny raindrops started to fall, creating a steady pitter-patter rhythm against the cracked concrete of the sidewalk. The high pitched whine of a siren sounded from somewhere in the distance, and the dreadlocked man looked over his shoulder inconspicuously, biting at the ring adorning his bottom lip. He didn't feel safe here, standing next to the run-down brick building, under the dull yellow glow of the streetlights, but what choice did he have now? He had just gotten himself kicked out of his house, and had next to no money. This place was his only choice, whether he liked it or not.

The rain began to fall harder, and Tom winced as the cold drops splattered against his face. Thunder rumbled in the distance, like the low growl of a sleeping beast. The dreadlocked youth groaned softly and hesitantly approached the front doors. He stepped into building, wrinkling his nose as the old, musty scent hit him, and the elderly woman slowly sweeping the floor looked up at Tom through heavily lidded eyes. Tom's dark, mocha colored eyes met her beady grey ones, and a shiver descended down his spine. She shuffled toward him, and Tom looked down at the old woman, due to the fact that the top of her head barely reached his shoulders.

"Who are you?" the woman asked, and Tom was slightly taken aback by her rudeness.

"I'm… er, I'm Tom. Tom Kaulitz," he told her awkwardly. "I called last week; I was scheduled to move in to one of your apartments today."

The grey haired woman studied him a bit longer, and then finally nodded. "Right." She pulled a tarnished key from the pocket of her apron, a small blue keychain with the white numbers 483 printed on it dangling from the key. "Room 483. On the third floor." Tom nodded slowly and approached the gates of the old elevator in the corner.

"Doesn't work," he heard the woman grunt from somewhere behind him. Tom exhaled deeply through his nose, turned, and quickly strode over to the staircase in the other corner. Without a backwards glance, he began to trot up the flights of stairs, and still thought he felt the woman's gaze burning into him from behind.

*******

With a tired creak, the heavy wooden door swung open slowly, revealing the small square room to Tom. The eighteen year old stepped into his new home, his footsteps echoing around him in the heavy silence of the building. He dropped his bag on the cold hardwood floor with a dull _thud. _In one corner of the room was a old double sized bed, covered with lumpy mattress and ancient looking set of blankets and pillow, a squishy looking, moth-eaten chair on the other side of the room. There was a beat up old desk and chair set under the tall, rectangular window that overlooked the city, a small, antique lamp set on one corner.

Tom sighed, feeling even more alone and abandoned than ever, and shivered, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes flickered towards the window, which was open slightly, the thin, almost translucent white curtains fluttering gently in the wind. He approached it, and slammed it shut, blocking out the cold draft. Tom crossed the room again and sat down heavily on the mattress, putting his head in his hands, letting out a low sigh. He flopped back on the hard bed with a slight frown gracing his lips and stared up at the ceiling, the glow of the city lights creating eerie shadows against the walls and roof of the room. And for the first time since he had been on his own, Tom couldn't help but feel a little bit frightened.

A crash sounded against the wall of the next room, and Tom sat up with a jolt of fear, heart racing. He paused, as still and attentive as a startled feline, listening hard. After several seconds that seemed to tick by excruciatingly slowly, he laid back down again, breathing out a deep, heavy sigh.

_This is ridiculous. Stop acting like you're ten years old; there's nothing here._

Pursing his lips in a slight frown, Tom yanked the blankets off of his body, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and rising to his feet. The nineteen year old folded his arms tightly across his chest, approaching the window and looking out over the mass of the large city. Standing there alone, amongst the thousands of glittering lights and buildings, Tom felt so tiny and so utterly alone. He paced the length of the room once, the hardwood floor cold against his bare feet, and gnawed at his bottom lip. A sudden pang of homesickness shot throughout his heart, and he groaned low in his throat, sitting back down on the small, hard bed. A mistake, was all this was. A huge mistake.

Tom flopped back onto the bed, bouncing slightly. He gazed at the ceiling through heavy lidded eyes, the sound of the traffic on the 4-lane highway below slowly, but surely, lulling him into a restless, uneasy slumber. As sleeps gentle embrace wrapped around Tom, he thought he heard someone singing softly; a faint, melodic tune that was barely audible, but still, somehow, beautiful. Finally deciding it was only his sleep-clouded mind, Tom turned onto his side, exhaling deeply before drifting to sleep.

A shrill, complete cry of terror woke the nineteen year old in the dark, early hours of the morning. He sat erect so fast that his head spun, heart hammering so hard against his chest that he feared it would snap his ribs in two. He looked around wildly, and still thought he could hear the scream echoing off the walls, the scream that came somewhere from the depths of the old building. It was when his heart beat began to regulate and his breathing slowed that he noticed how chill the air was, seeming to prick his skin with its coldness. The hairs on the back of Toms neck rose, and something didn't seem right.

_Must've been my imagination. _

It was then that Tom had noticed the wide open window, translucent curtains flapping wildly in the breeze. And then, inhaling sharply, he swore he saw a face from behind the curtains staring back at him. Then he blinked, and it was gone.

_I'm still dreaming. Please let me be dreaming._

Sleep didn't come until the sun rose that morning.

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	2. Chapter 02: A Face in the Mirror

**Chapter 02: A Face in the Mirror**

"So how's the new place?"

"Fucking haunted. Or something." Tom took a deep drag of the cigarette loosely between his lips, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. "I don't know." The bleach-blonde sitting across the table on the patio of the small coffee shop looked at the dreadlocked teen sceptically. Tom shot his best friend a glare, violently stabbing the butt of the cigarette against the table top to snuff it out. He lowered his gaze to the steaming cup of coffee set in front of him, glaring at it, as if his sleepless night and messed up life were somehow the caffeinated drinks fault.

"Haunted?" the blonde repeated, his voice laced with suppressed laughter. "What are you, eight?"

"Fuck off, Andreas." Tom leaned his elbow against the table, cupping his chin in his hand. A slight frown graced his lips. "I'm not kidding; there's something really messed up about that place."

"You were just stressed and over-tired," Andreas replied casually. "Probably just your mind playing tricks on you." Tom gave a non-committal grunt and turned his attention back to the drink in front of him. He stared at it blankly, loosing himself in the depths of the murky brown liquid.

_Maybe I really am just losing my mind._

"Oh," the other teen breathed out, glancing at the watch around one wrist. "Listen, Tom, I have to go before I'm late for work. We'll try hang out sometime next week again, alright?" Tom just nodded mutely, eyes still staring blankly at nothing.

"And don't loose any more sleep over this," Andreas added. "Just get a proper night of rest and relax. Try not to worry about anything and you'll be fine."

Tom just grunted again, giving the other youth no reply.

***

Tom wandered the near empty streets for most of the remainder of the day, hands shoved into the pockets of his baggy jeans, shoes absently scuffing against the concrete of the cracked sidewalk. He couldn't really fool himself anymore; he knew he was just avoiding going home. Tom looked up at the steadily darkening sky, exhaling softly. The nineteen year old heard a small rumble of thunder in the distance, and as if on cue, large, fat drops of rain started to fall, the downpour growing heavier and heavier by the second. He watched the very few people littering the streets run for cover, some shielding their hair with newspapers, bags, and other random objects.

"Great," Tom mumbled under his breath, yanking his cap down by the brim to cover his face from the cold rain.

Spotting the old apartment building looming up against the dark sky at the end of the block, the lanky teen broke into a jog, his soaked sweater clinging uncomfortably to his body.

Tom swung the large, heavy doors of the building open with a creak, stepping inside to seek shelter from the pouring rain. The same old woman from the day before was bustling around the lobby again, and turned slowly to look at the young man, her dull eyes shifting to his muddy shoes and the small puddle of water that seeped into the atrociously pattered carpet underneath him. She shot Tom one last look of disdain, then turned away from him to continue the task she had been doing before he entered. Wordlessly, Tom crossed the wide room to the door that led to the flights of stairs. Pausing with his hand on the door knob, the nineteen year old turned to face the woman.

"Does anyone else live here?" he asked. It took the elderly woman several seconds to answer.

"No," she finally said, her back still to Tom. "You are the first person to move in in almost four years."

"Why?"

Tom waited for several minutes, and when he didn't receive an answer, turned and exited the room. There was definitely something suspicious going on in this place, and he was determined to figure it out.

He finally reached the third floor, slightly out of breath from his climb up the dozens of stairs. When he reached the door to his apartment, Tom felt that uneasiness welling up inside of him again. Frowning, the dreadlocked teen gave his head a small shake and realized he really _was _being ridiculous. It was just his imagination. There were no ghosts, nothing in his room. No one else even _lived _in the building.

Tom let himself in the room, peeling off his wet hoody and tossing it into a careless heap in the middle of the floor. The room was filled with such a thick silence that the air felt heavy enough to crush him. Tom thought that if he had to stay here much longer, he would surely go insane. He shuffled across to room to the narrow door that blended in with the walls, which he had only discovered earlier that morning. It led to a tiny kitchen and living area, and an even tinier bathroom. Tom figured that a magician of some sort must've been needed to fit the bathtub into it.

The nineteen year old entered the cramped bathroom and sat down heavily on the old, yellowed toilet. Everything in this place seemed to be decades old. Burying his face in his hands, Tom let out an agitated, tired groan. He was already sick of this, sick of everything, and lately, he realized, nothing seemed to go right. Everything was just a huge disaster.

Tom rose from his position and leaned against the chipped porcelain sink, staring at his reflection in the dirty, streaked mirror. His eyes burned intently into his reflections, and he studied his features. Dull, tired eyes encircled in black due to the previous sleepless night. A face worn from exhaustion and stress that looked years older than it should have. The nineteen year old wrinkled his nose slightly at his appearance, blinking slowly as he leaned closer to the mirror. And then his heart practically stopped.

A pair of eyes that weren't his own were staring back at him.

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	3. Chapter 03: A Shadow on the Wall

**Chapter 03: A Shadow on the Wall**

Tom practically flew backward, slamming painfully into the dingy tile of the bathroom wall. His heart was now pounding a mile a minute, breath coming in quick, short gasps as he eyed the mirror fearfully. The dreadlocked teens vision seemed to blur for a moment, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing the frightening sight in the mirror to go away, to leave him alone. Slowly, carefully, the dreadlocked teen opened his eyes, drawing in a rattling breath. The eyes were gone. The only sound in the miniscule apartment that Tom could hear was the now slowing beat of his own heart inside of his chest. He stood there for God knows how long, back still pressed against the cold tile wall, still trembling. That heavy silence filled the small room again, and Tom couldn't shake the feeling that someone was still watching him, someone was still there.

When his heart rate and breathing finally regulated, Tom hesitantly stepped out of the cramped bathroom, cautiously looking around the apartment. It was almost _too _silent; as if it was all building up to something big.

And then there was a sudden explosion of sound as all hell broke loose.

Tom stumbled backward, finally tripping over his own feet and landing on the hard, cold floor with a dull _thud. _Every cupboard and drawer had flown open, as if a pair of invisible hands had roughly yanked them open. The plates and glasses fell to the ground, shattering on contact, the few groceries Tom had picked up earlier spilled from the refrigerator, jars breaking, contents spilling everywhere. The room had suddenly turned icy cold, but that was definitely not the reason Tom was trembling. The dreadlocked teen sat there, shaking and scared out of his mind, until everything had eventually calmed again, the room returned to the comfortably warm temperature it had been earlier. Tom could hear the cars racing by on the highway below, the yellowed city lights shining in the window creating eerie shadows and patterns on the walls and roof. Tom swore, for a split second, he saw the shadow of another person against the wall.

The small table and chairs next to the kitchen sink flipped over sideways, and Tom recoiled. The nineteen year old fished a cell phone from the pocket of his too-big jeans, flipping it open and hastily punching in a phone number. The familiar voice of his best friend answered, and Tom drew his knees up against his chest.

"Andy," he whispered hoarsely, "I think there's someone in my apartment."

There was a pause, and then a heavy exhale.

"What are you talking about?" Andreas asked, and Tom could hear the weariness in his voice.

"I think there's someone else in here," Tom stated again. He heard small voices and laughter from the other end of the phone. "Who's there?"

"Georg and Gustav," the other teen replied. "You want me to come over there, don't you?" It wasn't exactly a question; Andreas already knew the answer.

"Just don't tell them. They'll think I'm psychotic or something." _Too late, _Tom mentally reminded himself. Another sigh met his ear.

"I'll be over in a few." The other end of the line went dead, and Tom snapped his cell shut. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, biting distractedly at his bottom lip. He suddenly felt ridiculous, sitting on the floor, practically curled up in a ball. The tinkle of breaking china startled the teen once again as a single plate slid from an open cupboard, the door hanging crookedly on its hinges. Tom rose to his feet, pacing the room on rubbery legs that didn't feel like his own. He figured that he had already cracked and gone completely insane, because there was no way something like this could happen in real life.

***

There was an impatient knock on the door, and Tom briskly strode across the room to yank it open, revealing Andreas, who had a slight smile on his face, although Tom could still see the hint of annoyance hidden behind it. The blonde looked over Tom's shoulder, and the smirk instantly dropped from his lips.

"Tom, what the fuck did you _do_?" he asked in disbelief once he spotted the chaotic mess of broken dishes and food scattered among the floor.

"It wasn't me," Tom replied darkly. Andreas was looking at him in doubt, not really bothering to try and mask the look of pity upon his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Tom cut him off angrily.

"What," the dreadlocked teen snapped hotly, "you think I did this _myself_?"

"I… well, I don't…" Andreas practically wilted under Tom's angry glare. "I don't know. I mean, I don't think you'd trash your own place like this, but…"

"But what?" Tom snarled.

"All I'm trying to say is that ghosts don't even exist. You don't actually believe in all that paranormal crap, do you?"

"What else am I supposed to believe?" the nineteen year old replied, frustrated. "I _obviously _didn't do this myself. Someone or something else had to have been in here.

"But you didn't see anyone in here, right?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Tom," Andreas said seriously, stepping over the threshold and shutting the door behind him. "I think you should go see a doctor."

Tom bowed his head with a sigh, digging the heels of his hands against his eyes tiredly. "I'm not insane," he protested weakly. _At least, I'm not entirely sure I am yet, _he added in his head.

"I'm not saying you are," the blonde defended himself quickly. "I'm just saying that maybe you should plan a visit." Tom shot him one last glare before turning around and storming into the small kitchen area.

"Will you at least help me clean this disaster up?" he said, kneeling to pick up shards of broken china. His friend knelt beside him, wordlessly helping Tom pick up the broken pieces, tossing them into the garbage. They worked in complete silence for the remainder of the evening, the tension almost too heavy to bear.

***

The shape was still behind the mirror, watching in silence. The smallest hint of a smile played on its lips for what was the first time in years as it watched the two teens clean up the huge mess it had made. It figured that it had scared and tortured the poor kid enough.

For now, anyways.

* * *

**_So I've got a crapload of you guys adding me/this story to your favorites, but barely any reviews. START REVIEWING PLZ KTHX. ((((((:_**

**_By the way, only the first few chapters are actually in the horror genre. Farther into the story, it won't be so bad. ;)_**


	4. Chapter 04: A Being in the Other Room

**Chapter 04: A Being in the Other Room**

Four days had passed since the strange disturbances.

For four days, all was quiet, and Tom was pretty sure that he had finally cracked and just imagined it all, and would be sitting in a padded cell somewhere in the very near future. Even Andreas was avoiding him; their conversations now seemed stressed and awkward. But Tom didn't really blame him - who wanted to be friends with a basket case that claimed a ghost was haunting his apartment, anyways?

The dreadlocked man slouched against the back of the couch, eyes unfocused and half closed, exhausted. Bored. Although the haunting occurrences had stopped, he still couldn't help feeling uneasy. He wanted to know what had happened here to drive all the people away. Tom shuddered, and decided that maybe it would be best if he _didn't _find that out.

He suddenly felt a tremor in his pocket, and with a frown, Tom thrust his hand into the huge, seemingly endless pockets to retrieve his cell phone. The small illuminated screen read _1 new message, _and he flipped it open, accessing his inbox. A text from one of his other best friends, Georg.

_Hey, wut r u doin?_

Tom typed a quick reply, his fingers a blur across the small keypad. _nthin, im so bored._

_Com ovr 2 andys, he got sum weed frm his cousin. Few other ppl r comin l8er._

_Alrite, c u guys in a bit. _Tom couldn't help but let a small smile play across his lips. He rose from his previous position on the couch, snapping the phone closed and dumping it back in his pocket. He strode briskly to the door and exited the apartment, closing it with a slam that echoed through the empty building.

***

He stood directly in the center of the room, invisible. He watched Tom leave, and slowly began to fade into view, the air in the room growing steadily colder. He paced the room, not really walking, but gracefully gliding across the hardwood floor, letting a nearly inaudible sigh spill from his lips. He approached the window, peering out at the street below, and watched Tom jog across the four-lane highway. Some kind of emotion seemed to be gently gnawing at his cold, lifeless insides - what was it? Regret? Sympathy? After all, Tom was the first person to move into this place in _years, _and he knew he had scared the dreadlocked teen to the point where he had practically stopped eating and sleeping.

Sure, haunting people and scaring the shit out of them was amusing for awhile, but he always ended up doing it to a point where he drove them away. The ghost couldn't deny anymore that he was quite lonely. Being dead was just no fun.

He watched Tom turn around the corner of the street, disappearing amid the tall buildings, and sighed once again, fading back into invisibility.

***

Tom couldn't really remember the last time he had felt this content, like nothing would ever bother him again. He felt at peace, for once.

Tom didn't realize that he had been silent four nearly fifteen minutes, staring blankly into space, until he felt someone elbow him roughly in the side. He turned his blank stare upon Andreas, who was sitting Indian-style on the floor next to him. Tom blinked and looked around, slightly out of it.

"What?"

The blonde held up a joint delicately between his index finger and thumb. Tom willingly took it, placing it between his lips and inhaling. He held the smoke in his lungs before exhaling, feeling himself become more and more light-headed with each toke. Tom could faintly hear voices coming from the other room; the other people that had come over no doubt raiding the kitchen for snacks.

"So, hows your ghost doing?" Andreas asked with a breathy laugh. Tom punched the other man in the shoulder, hard, and laid back on the floor.

"Fuck off, you aren't funny," he snapped in a hoarse voice.

"I was kidding," the blond snapped back, rubbing his shoulder with a frown. "Don't be an asshole."

"Whatever." Tom heard a crash emit from the kitchen, followed by several high pitched giggles and Georg swearing angrily. "Better go see what they're doing to your poor kitchen."

Andreas dismissed the thought with a lazy flick of his hand. "Nah, it's fine."

A sudden silence hung over the two of them, and Tom coughed, feeling the need to somehow break it.

"I'm sorry for being a dick lately," the blonde finally said, shuffling awkwardly and looking away from Tom. The dreadlocked man shrugged carelessly. He felt so calm, like he didn't have a care in the world anymore. Like nothing mattered.

"That's fine, I'm sorry for being insane," he mumbled, glazed eyes staring fixedly at the ceiling. Andreas turned to him and opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Georg, Gustav, and several girls whose names Tom couldn't remember, joining them once again.

One of the girls, a not so attractive red-head, sat next to him, way too close for comfort. He wondered where the hell Georg had found these losers. Tom made a sound of disapproval low in his throat as she began to babble nonsense to him, occasionally accentuating her pointless sentences by grasping onto his arm. He sat up, trying to wriggle away from her, and his eyes flickered toward the digital clock placed on the surface of the dresser. A quarter to midnight.

"I think I'd better get home," Tom said, trying not to let the desperation of wanting to leave show. "It's getting late."

"'_It's getting late?_' Jesus, Tom, you live by yourself, who the hell cares what time you get home," Georg said, frowning.

"Shut up," Tom retorted, pulling his body, that now felt feather light, up from the ground with a groan. "I'm tired. I'll see you guys later."

***

Tom exhaled softly, his warm breath turning to vapour as it hit the cool Autumn air, and zipped his sweater up higher, trying to shield himself from the cold wind that billowed playfully around him. He chanced a glance over his shoulder; he had the strange feeling that someone was following him, but their was no one there, save for a cat strolling lazily across the street, its tail held high.

Still feeling uneasy, Tom picked up his pace; the sooner he got home, the better. Or so he thought.

***

When Tom swung the door open, a gust of cold air hit him, and he froze. Again, he felt it, that strange feeling that something was terribly wrong. He approached the door to the living area and opened it slowly, eyes averted. His eyes finally traveled upward, and his jaw practically dropped at the site in front of him.

There was someone standing in front of the window.

At first Glance, Tom thought it was a woman, until he noticed the height, flat chest and lack of womanly curves. The strange male shook the curtain of ebony hair from his face, and looked up at Tom, a devilish little smile on his lips. And then Tom noticed that he seemed to be _glowing. _Emitting a faint, pale grey light.

The brunette shifted positions slightly, and Tom realized that he could see the glittering lights of the city behind him. _Through _him.

_Oh, fuck. _

* * *

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	5. Chapter 05: An Encounter in the Hallway

**Chapter 05: An Encounter in the Hallway**

Their eyes met, and Tom blinked stupidly, mouth agape. He felt strange, dizzy, as if he was on the verge of passing out. There could only be one logical answer to this: he was still as high as a kite. Ripped out of his fucking mind. The dreadlocked man opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again without a sound. He was still too shocked, scared, and confused to be able to form a coherent sentence.

The man, the ghost, whatever it was, took a step closer, his fluid movements much too graceful for Tom's liking. The nineteen year old took a step backward, feeling his back press against the cold, solid wall behind him. The brunette standing in front of Tom placed one hand on his hip, a smug, mocking grin on his lips. And then he was gone.

Tom exhaled, his heart pounding in his ears. He shut his eyes momentarily, opening them again to gaze around the now empty room.

"I know you're still here," Tom said, trying to keep his voice level. "Whoever the hell you are, whatever you are, I know you're in here." He was greeted by nothing other than silence, which was soon broken by a soft, tinkling laugh.

"Scared yet?" The voice was melodic and somehow beautiful - in a cold, haunting way, but a pretty sound nonetheless. Tom shuddered. He couldn't see the source of the voice, but it sounded close by. Despite the situation, the slightly mocking tone of the voice irked Tom. The small, dim lamp that was set on the end table next to the bed slid off, the bulb shattering against the floor and engulfing the room in thick black darkness. Tom recoiled, feeling a swift breeze of icy air float by him that scattered goose bumps across his skin. He could feel the presence of the ghost extremely close to him, and barely dared to breathe. He really couldn't figure out if he was hallucinating or not.

A dull _thump _sounded in the next room, and Tom knew that the ghost was continuing to make a mess of his place. The dreadlocked man clenched his hands into fists at his sides; anger and annoyance beginning to drive the fear out of his system.

"Are you done destroying my shit now?" Tom said aloud, folding his arms across his chest. With a sudden swish, the blankets and sheets were ripped off the bed, falling to the floor in a crumpled mess. The dread-head swore he heard the tiniest hint of laughter from somewhere in the room, and that angered him even more; this ghost, this _thing, _seemed to be mocking him. Tom decided that he was _not _going to take this kind of shit from something that wasn't even human, probably wasn't even _real. _

Tom turned and slipped out of the door way, entering the warmth of the hallway. He sank down to the ground, leaning against the wall and holding his head in his hands. He suddenly felt the air turn to ice yet again, and swore loudly.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!" Tom snapped angrily, repeatedly banging the back of his head against the wall. "Leave me alone!" The ghost appeared in front of the dreadlocked man again, this time, mere inches away from him. Tom noticed that he was somehow faded and blurred at the edges, oddly colorless.

"I was just messing around," the ghost muttered in that sweet, musical voice, looking hurt. "I didn't mean any real harm."

"Are you fucking serious?" Tom hissed, eyes rising to look at the ghosts face fully for the first time. He couldn't help being startled by his beauty, and it almost made Toms anger dissolve. _Almost. _"Trashing my place and scaring the shit out of me is your idea of 'no real harm'?"

"Well…" the ghost faltered, at a loss for words, and looked slightly hurt. Tom found himself, unwillingly, somewhat regretting his choice of words. The dread-head groaned and put his hands over his face again.

"Can you fuck off now, and go haunt someone else or whatever the hell it is that you do?"

"No," the ghost replied quickly. "I'm not leaving this building, and you're the first person to move in in four years. There is no way I'm going anywhere."

"So what, that means you're going to stick around and screw up my life even more until I leave?" The ghost didn't answer, and Tom suddenly frowned. "Wait, why am I even talking to you? You _can't _exist; you must be a figment of my imagination, because I've finally went off the deep end."

"I can so exist. I _do _exist." The ghost pointed an accusing finger at Tom. "Just because you're too close-minded to accept the fact that ghosts are real doesn't mean you can decide whether I exist or not. In fact, I can prove to you that I'm real." Tom swiped at the ghost, irritated, but let out a yelp of fear when his hand went right through the brunettes shoulder. It was an odd sensation; so cold that it seemed to burn his skin.

"C'mon." The ghost drifted lazily into the doorway. "I'll show you."

Tom followed the ghost back into the apartment, confused, and figured that he had no other choice.

***

Tom watched as the ghost knelt down next to the bed, sliding his arms underneath. He pulled out a small stack of old newspapers, yellowed and torn around the edges, and tossed them onto Tom's lap. The nineteen year old picked the first one up curiously, eyes scanning across the main headline in bold, black letters that read _Madgeburg Man Dies in Apartment Struggle. _Underneath the headline, there was a picture identical to the ghost standing in front of Tom. Tom looked up at the him, a little shocked, and read a bit of the article.

"'Bill Kaulitz, 18, was discovered dead outside of his apartment in downtown Madgeburg on the evening of December 22nd," Tom read softly out loud. "It appeared that Kaulitz had fallen from the window of his third-story apartment room, although investigators have not released at this time whether it was a suicide attempt or accident.'"

Tom stopped reading and looked up at the ghost, Bill, who was now sitting Indian-style on the floor in front of him.

"So, did you really kill yourself?"

"Of course not," Bill frowned, then added, as if it were obvious, "I was pushed."

"Really?" Tom asked, bewildered. "By who?"

Bill didn't answer, and Tom took the hint not to ask about it any further. And then it suddenly sank in: he was sitting here, in his apartment, talking to a _ghost. _

_There has to be something wrong with my head. Andreas was right; I think I need help._

Tom looked down at Bill, who was staring back at him with a piercing gaze, and shuddered.

"Is it always this cold when you're around?" he asked grumpily, hugging his arms around himself. Bill shrugged carelessly and floated toward the window, the aura around him glowing brightly, reflecting the city lights in front of him.

"If it bothers you, put on another sweater and shut up," the ghost replied, amusement lacing his voice. Tom groaned loudly and flopped back on the bed, burying his face in the mattress.

If he wasn't already insane, then surely he would be by the time Bill was through with him.

* * *

**_o hai ghost!bill. _**

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	6. Chapter 06

**Chapter 06**

The next several weeks had gone by relatively slow and uneventful; Bill now rarely ever showed himself, and Tom thought, with a sense of self satisfaction, that he had somehow made the ghost leave. The nineteen year old had even managed to find himself a part-time job at the urban apparel store just down the street, and was hoping to soon earn enough money to move out of the shitty apartment he currently inhabited. And to get away from the little "problem" that he happened to share his home with.

Tom stabbed at one of the toaster-waffles on the plate in front of him and sighed, leaning his elbows against the tables surface. He eyed the waffles drenched in syrup with disdain; not what one would call a nutritional breakfast. The dreadlocked mans eyes flickered toward the calendar that hung crookedly on the wall next to the fridge; Christmas was growing ever closer, just under two weeks from now, and Tom felt even more lonely. All of his friends would be either visiting family or on holidays somewhere. He never thought he'd have to spend the holidays on his own. The dread-head felt the air in the room grow icy yet again, interrupting his bitter thoughts. Although the ghost rarely appeared lately, Tom could still feel the chill that lingered on the air when Bill was lurking, invisible.

After shoving another piece of waffle into his mouth, Tom dropped the fork onto his plate with a clatter that broke the uncomfortable silence that filled the miniscule apartment, rubbing one hand tiredly across his face. Tom was absolutely positive that he was going to crack any day now from all of this; if this whole "haunting" thing didn't drive him insane, surely the constant thought of it eventually would. It always seemed to be there, gnawing at the back of his mind, disrupting him whenever he felt even close to peaceful.

As the air grew steadily colder, Tom let out an angry groan, gritting his teeth together.

"I know you're there, what's the point of trying to be all secretive?" he snapped into thin air, and, just as he suspected, got no answer. The nineteen year old slid the chair back, the legs screeching loudly against the hardwood floor.

"Where are you going?" a soft voice asked from somewhere behind Tom as he approached the door. Only when the curiosity of what Tom was up to was too much to bear, would Bill break his silence.

"Out," the dreadlocked man replied shortly, "and I still haven't decided if you're just a figment of my imagination or not. Until then; leave me alone." He slammed the door behind him before the ghost could reply.

***

Bill watched Tom disappear down the street through the dingy window, slowly drifting across the room when he had lost site of the dreadlocked man. The ghost hovered toward the small bathroom, the toes of his shoes barely skimming the hardwood floor. Sure, he could walk, just like a human; but why do something so _boring, _something he constantly did when he was alive? He enjoyed the feeling of floating, anyway; one of the very, very few perks of being a ghost.

He drifted toward the bathroom door, eyes flickering toward the mirror. Of course there was no reflection in the mirror, nor had there been one the countless other times Bill had looked. Bill hadn't seen himself in a mirror since some hours before he died, and desperately wanted to know what he looked like _now. _He looked down at his hands. His nails were still long, painted in a slightly chipped black and white manicure. Bill figured that if he had known he was about to die, he would have at least made time to touch them up before hand. Now he'd _never _get the chance to redo them, or his makeup, or his hair…

_Damn._

Bill ridded his mind of the unpleasant thoughts, quickly fading into invisibility before sinking through the floor. He landed in the dimly lit hall below, where the elderly landlady was bustling around. She stopped suddenly, raising her head to look around, and the ghost wondered if she someone knew he was there. After several seconds, she turned back to what she had been doing before, and Bill drifted through the wall, into the street outside. He looked up at the sky, watching the fluffy snowflakes descend lazily from the cold, grey heavens. The people that rushed by him on the sidewalk were all bundled up in heavy coats and scarves, their cheeks pink from the icy winter air. Bill watched a young red haired girl pass by him quickly, and felt a pang of annoyance. He wanted to be able to feel the cold air against his bare skin, the bitter coldness of snow in the palm of his hand. The ghost wanted to be able to gain back all the sensations, being able to touch things and actually _feel _them, to acquire the ability to feel human emotions again, to get back practically everything that had been ripped away from him much too early.

The ghost floated across the street, barely noticing as a car drove through him. Bill found his mind unwillingly drifting back to Tom; wondering where he was and what he was doing at the exact moment. He made a small sound of discontent and pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. What was it about the dreadlocked teen that seemed to draw Bill to him? Tom was annoying and egotistical most of the time, not to mention he was quick to anger and had a temper like no other… so why was it that the ghost just couldn't get him out of his thoughts? To put it simply; Tom was an asshole, the kind of person that Bill usually went to extreme lengths to avoid when he was alive. He knew that Tom hated him (Bill realized that this was understandable, since he had made Tom question his sanity since day one), and would never have the chance to befriend the dread-head.

Bill glared after a group of giggling teenagers that had walked through him, before turning around and heading back toward the old apartment building. Now he remembered why he rarely left it; being outside made him realize how badly he missed living. Everywhere he seemed to look, the ghost was reminded of everything he so sorely missed, and wanted to get back into the isolated apartment as quick as possible.

Once back in the small room, Bill quickly came into view again, and sat on the floor against the wall under the window, pulling his knees up against his chest. If it was possible for him to cry right now, he most definitely would.

***

Bill was at the window yet again, leaning against the sill and absently staring into the darkness outside, watching the blizzard-like conditions. He could barely see the buildings on the other side of the street through the flurry of snow, and suddenly wondered if Tom was okay. The dreadlocked man had been gone all day.

_He's fine, _a voice nagged at the back of Bills mind. _Why worry about him, anyway?_

Bill turned away from the window, eyes scanning over the room. It was a mess, no doubt most of it still from him. Various articles of clothing were scattered across the hardwood floor, the sheets and blankets of the bed in a crumbled pile at the end of the bed and on the floor. For some strange, unknown reason, there was a pillow on the bedside table.

The ghost glided toward the other side of the room, grasping the pillow in his hands and placing it in it's appropriate place on the bed. He felt the need to somehow occupy himself. Bill untangled the mass of blankets and sheets from the end of the bed, throwing them neatly over the mattress. When the bedding was all properly adjusted, Bill ran his hands over the dark coloured duvet, smoothing out the wrinkles. He hated being able to touch, but not actually feel the softness of the cotton under his fingers. Bill glanced at the small digital clock on the dresser. It was a quarter after seven in the evening, and he hoped Tom would arrive home soon. He bent to retrieve the pile of crumpled clothing from the floor, folding each massive t-shirt and pair of jeans expertly, and finally placing them in a neat pile on the edge of the dresser.

***

Tom didn't come home until a little before midnight; naturally, Bill had been standing by the window, waiting, when he was seen the dread-head and some other teen with bleached hair pass by on the sidewalk below. The two young men stopped in front of the doors of the apartment building, and Tom shook out a bunch of snow that had gathered in the hood of his sweater. Bill couldn't hear them, but he saw the blonde let out a laugh, seeming to look at Tom with something that resembled admiration.

The ghost frowned, folding his arms over his chest. Bill instantly disliked him. He watched as the blonde placed a hand on Toms shoulder, letting it linger there longer than it should. Something akin to jealousy tugged at Bills lifeless insides. This boy clearly had ulterior motives.

Bill watched the two of them disappear inside, and when he heard their footsteps and voices coming down the hall, decided that he had to do something about this.

* * *

**_The next chapter might not come quite as quickly as the rest have so far. (I'm really busy and work sucks, sorry!)_**

**_omnomnomREVIEWS! ;D_**


	7. Chapter 07

**Chapter 07**

Tom let him and Andreas into the miniscule apartment, the old, heavy wooden door swinging open with a groan. The dreadlocked man wrinkled his nose in discomfort as he unzipped and peeled off his soggy, too-big hoody, carelessly tossing it in a wet heap on the floor. That's when he noticed the absence of the other clothes that had been on the floor since the day before yesterday. His caramel hued eyes drifted toward the perfectly made bed; he didn't remember doing that when he woke up. Unless…

_No. Don't be ridiculous; ghosts don't do your laundry. _

Tom kicked off his shoes and turned toward the blonde man standing behind him. They looked at each other in silence. The dread-head realized that he had been hanging out with Andreas almost the entire day, and could barely go ten minutes without being annoyed by the other man. Come to think of it, Tom was pretty sure that the only reason he invited Andreas over was that he'd feel like a horrible person if he had left his friend to walk halfway across the city in a blizzard. Tom thought he was starting to dislike the blonde, but couldn't really find a reason why. Sure, Andreas had been bitchy the last few days, constantly nagging him about something, but that didn't seem like a good enough reason to hate him. Maybe they just happened to be falling apart after eight years of friendship.

"Want a beer?" Tom shook the uncomfortable feeling and padded across the room toward the kitchen as the blonde man nodded in silence. The dread-head felt his insides twisting with anxiety. He hoped that Bill would have enough sense that he wouldn't do anything tonight. Tom almost snorted out loud. Yeah, right.

Tom yanked open the fridge door, grabbing two bottles of beer; a necessity, something that he always had to have on hand. He stood upright, the cold bottles practically numbing his already cold hands, and looked around the small area. Everything seemed quiet, much quieter than he was used too, much too normal. Maybe Bill had gone somewhere. The nineteen year old found himself wondering if Bill ever went anywhere, or just lurked around the rundown apartment building all day and night. For that matter, did ghosts even need sleep? More pointless questions began to form in his mind, and Tom exhaled, shutting his eyes momentarily. He was being a complete idiot again; not that that was a rare occurrence. The dreadlocked man shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling and walked back to the other room, making sure to shut the door behind him.

Sure enough, not seconds after he had left the kitchen area, Tom heard the familiar crash of shattering glass, and tried not to let the fear he felt become evident on his face. Andreas looked at him questioningly.

Tom handed the other man the bottles. "Hold on."

He crossed the room again and quickly let himself into the kitchen, making sure to latch the door securely behind him. Sure enough, Bill was visible and standing in the middle of the room, a sly smirk on his face and his arms folded across his chest. Shards of China from the plates Bill had caused to slide out of the cupboard were in a pile below the kitchen counter.

"Bill," the dread-head began in a hushed whisper, "please, don't. My friend already thinks I'm losing it; please don't do this. I'm begging you."

For the first time since Tom had moved in, Bill heard something other than anger and annoyance in the nineteen year olds voice. Right now, Bill seemed to only hear desperation and distress in Toms voice.

"Please?" Tom tried again, his voice miniscule and almost inaudible. For once, the ghost saw the weak side of Tom, and realized just how close he was coming to _actually _making the young man go insane.

Bill let his arms fall to his sides. "Alright," he said, defeated. "I won't do anything."

"Thank you," Tom sighed out in relief, "seriously, I-"

"But you owe me," Bill replied, a hint of a smile on his lips, before disappearing without a sound. Tom stared at the spot where Bill had previously stood for a few seconds before letting out a tiny groan, kneeling to carefully pick up the broken glass.

When Tom returned to the other room, Andreas didn't even look up at him. Tom sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing the beer from the end table and cracking it open.

"Sorry," he said, "The plates I left on the edge of the counter slid off."

"It's fine," the other man replied, and then they were both silent.

"So I'm going to Paris the day after tomorrow for the holidays," the blonde said. "I won't be back for two weeks." Tom couldn't think of anything meaningful to say, so just grunted in acknowledgement. He didn't notice the tiny frown that lingered on his friends lips for a split second.

Andreas turned to look out the window; the snowstorm outside had settled down a little since they had gotten back to Toms.

"It's not snowing too bad out anymore," Andreas pointed out. "I think I'll catch a cab home."

"Are you sure? It's still coming down pretty good out there."

"Yeah, I'm sure." Andreas slipped on his shoes that were placed by the door quickly. "So I'll call you or something when I get back from Paris."

"Alright," Tom answered. "Have fun."

"Uh huh." The blonde let himself out of the apartment without another word. Tom sighed as the room was enveloped in silence once again. Tom rubbed a tired hand over his eyes before changing into a pair of worn cotton sleep pants, flopping down heavily on the bed. He was suddenly overcome with tiredness, barely able to find the energy to slide under the covers. Finally, the dreadlocked man found enough strength to slip under the blankets.

Despite how tired he was, Tom didn't drift into sleep until sometime after three a.m.

He dreamt that Bill had locked him out of the apartment, and when he went to complain to the old woman downstairs, she told him to go live in the courtyard outside. Later, he froze to death in the snow, while Bill laughed at him from out the window.

***

Tom awoke around noon the next day, a bit confused when he felt a strange warmth on his face. His eyes flickered open and he squinted against the brilliant winter sun streaming through the window. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head, and tried to figure out what to do today. Pretty much everyone he knew had already gone away on vacation, or was spending time with family, and with no one to hang out with, Tom was insanely bored. He even had from now until the day after Christmas off of work, and had to admit, he missed it. At least it was something to occupy himself with during the day.

Tom practically rolled out of bed, dragging himself listlessly into the bathroom. He pulled his dreads back into a ponytail before stepping out of his clothes and into the shower, turning the hot water on and trying to keep his dreadlocks from getting wet; they were such a hassle to wash and took forever to dry. He shut his eyes for a few minutes, welcoming the relaxing spray of hot water.

Toms eyes snapped open when a sudden chain of thoughts crossed his mind. Bill could make himself invisible. Bill could be watching him. Bill could have watched in the shower _before. _Bill could have already seen him naked!

_Oh, God, what if he's a pervert?!_

Tom shuddered at the thought, feeling disgusted, and quickly jumped out of the shower, hastily wrapping a towel around himself. Cautiously, he padded out toward the dresser and pulled on the first outfit he got his hands on. He adjusted the elastic band holding his dreads, and decided to go hatless for the day; the first time since who knows when.

The nineteen year old entered the kitchen, snatching a package of Poptarts from the box on the table and tossing the silver wrapper in the garbage. Bill suddenly appeared next to him, and he jumped, dropping one of the breakfast pastries on the floor.

"Damnit!" he snapped. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry," Bill said quickly, not sounding the least bit sorry. Tom exhaled, beginning to grow more and more annoyed by every passing second. Stupid ghost.

He shoved the other Poptart into his mouth, throwing the one on the floor away.

"Are you going out?" Bill asked, drifting along side Tom as he walked toward the door.

"Yeah," the dreadlocked man replied, slipping on a pair of shoes. "There's nothing else to do, anyway." He looked over his shoulder at the ghost, who had a tiny smile on his lips.

"Remember how you owe me, since I didn't scare your friend away?"

Tom put his head in his hands and groaned in annoyance. "No."

Bill looked at him with a pout that Tom _almost _felt like he couldn't say no too. This was going to be one hell of a day.

* * *

**_Thank you all for the lovely reviews :)_**

**_Keep it up! ;D_**

**_and sorry I've been lazy with the chapter titles hahaha. XD_**


	8. Chapter 08

**Chapter 08**

"No," Tom said firmly as he bent down to tie the laces of his shoes. "Absolutely _not._"

"Oh, come on," Bill whined in reply, drifting alongside the other man as Tom made to leave out the door.

"No way," the dreadlocked man said again, "you are not coming with me. End of story."

"Why not? Where are you going, anyway?"

"I don't know!" Tom snapped, clenching his jaw tightly to stop from screaming out in frustration. "And you're not coming, got it?" He slammed the door in Bills face, but the ghost just floated through it as if nothing had happened. Tom inhaled deeply, striding down the hallway, hoping to somehow shake off the ghost following him.

"Get lost."

"No," Bill replied stubbornly. "I want to go with you."

The nineteen year old through up his hands in frustration. "But _why_? What could you possibly want to do outside, you're a fucking ghost, you can't do anything!"

"You're right." Bill sounded weary, defeated. Tom attempted a smug smile, but it faltered when he felt the slight twinge of guilt prick at his insides. Bill disappeared with yet another annoyed huff, but Tom knew he was still being followed.

The dreadlocked male sighed in defeat. "Since I know you're going to follow me anyway, fine, come. I don't care," he practically growled. "Just don't talk, don't show yourself, and don't bother me." Tom heard a squeal of delight from somewhere behind him and groaned. Tom felt that at the end of every argument, he was never able to say no to Bill.

***

The world was coated in a thick blanket of fluffy white snow, glittering beneath the crisp winter sun. The vast sky was painted a bright blue, and it would have been yet another beautiful if it wasn't for the icy chill to the air. Tom squinted against the bright sunlight, and was once again wandering aimlessly down the street with no set destination in mind. He thrust his hands into the deep pockets of his jeans, letting out an exhale of annoyance as Bill started chattering again in a soft voice from somewhere to his left. Tom could tell that Bills aura had changed a bit - although he was outside, he could feel that the air around him seemed warmer, somehow lighter. He could feel that the ghost was actually happy, or at least mildly content.

"Tom!" Bill hissed, now from somewhere behind him.

"Shut up," Tom muttered back under his breath. "If I keep answering you, people are going to think I'm talking to myself."

"Tom, look!" Bill continued, clearly not paying any attention to Tom's protests.

The nineteen year old turned around, trying to hold back a sigh of annoyance. "What? Where are you?"

"By the pet shop," the ghost replied in a whisper. "Oh, Tom, look at the kittens! Aren't they just adorable?"

"Yeah, real cute," Tom replied carelessly. He glanced at the large glass window of the shop, to see a litter of kittens attempting to climb out of the large cage they were in, some of them pawing at the window, their fur standing on end. A small calico kitten opened it's mouth in an obvious hiss, and Tom grinned, wondering if the felines could sense Bills presence.

"Tom, you should get a kitten," Bill said softly, excitement lacing his voice.

"No way," the dreadlocked man answered without hesitation. "I'm not getting a goddamn cat."

"Oh, don't be so prude; they're _so _cute!"

"No."

"Just _look_ at them," Bill continued. "How could you say no to those sweet little kittens?"

"I can and _will _say no. Be quiet," Tom snapped, a little too loudly, and several people passing by turned to look at him, alarmed.

"You're such a stick-in-the-mud."

Tom snorted, and didn't answer. He continued to walk down the sidewalk, the ice and snow crunching loudly underneath his shoes. Tom let out a tired sigh, his breath rising in a vapour in front of him, really beginning to wish it was summer again.

_Stupid cold, stupid snow, stupid holidays. Stupid Bill._

***

Tom sat at the small, round kitchen table, absently picking at a container of Chinese take-out. He twirled the Chow Mein noodles around his fork before slurping them up loudly, earning a look of disdain from Bill.

"Quit it," Bill said, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "that's gross."

The dreadlocked male shrugged carelessly. "My place, my rules."

The ghost frowned and turned away, seated on the floor and hunched over a thick fashion magazine that he had talked (more like whined) Tom into buying him. And Tom _still _couldn't believe that he had spent almost seven dollars on a _ghost_. He watched Bill staring at the glossy pages of model after model dressed in fancy, expensive clothing with child-like wonder, and almost smiled. _Almost. _

Tom sighed and stared down intently at the noodles in front of him. This was all becoming too much for him to handle; he was losing his friends, his life, his mind, and wasn't sure how much longer he could bear this all. Bill was becoming a huge burden to him, but Tom couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the ghost; he couldn't imagine what it would be like, to just die all of a sudden and leave everyone, everything behind.

_Maybe… maybe I could just think of Bill as an exotic pet or something. Maybe that would make things easier, somehow…_

Tom laughed aloud at his own thoughts, quickly trying to disguise the outburst as a sudden cough, which resulted in a strange, choking sound. Bill looked over his shoulder at the dread-head, one eyebrow raised.

"Chew your food, Tom," the ghost remarked, turning back toward the magazine placed in front of him. "Or else you'll end up like me."

Tom looked up, surprised, and couldn't tell if Bill was joking or not. He cleared his throat awkwardly and didn't reply; as of late, the ghost had been making awkward comments that Tom didn't know how to reply too. When he looked at Bill again, the ghost had gone back to hovering over his magazine.

The dreadlocked male went back to eating in silence, and not another word passed between the two of them the rest of the night.

* * *

_**Wow, I didn't think it'd been THAT long... jeez, I'm really really really sorry. And also extremely sorry for this shitty filler chapter. I just haven't been feelin' it lately, and can't seem to write. at all. **_

_**On a lighter note, however, the next chapter will be longer, and way better. ;)  
**_


	9. Chapter 09

**Chapter 09**

_It was cold, so cold that Tom couldn't feel the tips of his fingers. He stuffed them into the pockets of his sweater, trying to stop shivering uncontrollably, and hesitantly looked over his shoulder. The young man couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following him. _

_He pressed on through the knee deep snow, squinting his eyes against the sudden gust of wind, driving against his exposed skin like thousands of icy needles. Tom could barely see a foot in front of him; the world seemed to be lost in a mass of snowflakes, the cold, powdering substance coating everything in a thick white blanket. The dreadlocked male felt his heart rate increase; something didn't feel right. Something _wasn't _right; it wasn't just a paranoid feeling, it was real. Something was so, so wrong._

_Tom felt claustrophobic, closed in, stuck amongst the seemingly never ending snow and unaware of where he was. He couldn't see anything around him, and he was absolutely positive he wasn't alone. Stumbling through the deep snow, Tom wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, desperate to try keep warm, although he knew it was an impossible task. Surely he would freeze to death soon._

I'm going to die here.

_He tried to shout out for help, but when he opened his mouth, his chest seemed to constrict and he was suddenly winded. He couldn't breathe. Was this what it was like to die? _

_Tom collapsed into the snow bank, numb to the chilling snow soaking through his clothes, and gasped for air; he was suffocating, he was _dying.

"_Help," he finally managed to gasp; his voice tiny and hoarse, almost lost upon the howling wind. He heard a childish snort of laughter, and managed to look up, trembling. He was left even more breathless, if possible._

_Bill was standing over him, arms folded across his narrow chest and a smug grin on his face, but that wasn't what had caught Tom off-guard. Bill wasn't semi-transparent, oddly colorless and blurred at the edges. His image was _solid, _and Tom could see the deep, jet black color of his hair, the dark caramel hue of his eyes, the delicate pink of his lips. He was alive; Tom could see the other mans breath on the chill winter air._

_Tom lurched forward, still trying to retrieve his breath, but Bill took a graceful step backward and Tom collapsed face first into the snow. Why was Bill just standing there, why wasn't he helping him? Heaving himself up weakly, Tom watched as Bill knelt down next to him, that strange, twisted smile still gracing his lips. The nineteen year old reached out, and his hand finally closed around Bills wrist. He could feel the heat from Bills skin, and wondered why the black haired man wasn't cold, like him. His skin was so warm that it burned. Toms wide, panicked eyes briefly met a pair of almost identical ones, and Bill looked at him with something that resembled care, although Tom could find no warmth in those dark eyes._

"_W-Why aren't you…" the dread-head gasped out between chattering teeth. "…Dead?"_

_Bills smile widened, and he leaned closer to the other man. Tom could smell something that resembled lilacs and cigarettes, and tensed as he felt Bills finger tips ghost against his own icy cheek. _

_Just as the brunette was about to whisper something into his ear, a sea of darkness washed over Tom, and he was enveloped in black and silence._

***

Tom woke with a startled gasp, sitting upright and trying to catch his breath. He noted the familiar surroundings of his apartment, and sighed out in relief. Just a dream, a nightmare. Not real.

He wiped the back of one hand over his forehead, trying to rid his skin of the cold sweat, and it took several minutes for his breathing and heartbeat to become regulated. Everything had felt so _real; _the cold, the scorching heat of Bills skin against his own. Every detail had seemed to real to be a dream, everything down to the scents.

Tom shuddered before rising from the bed, and silently padded into the kitchen to get himself a drink of water, but stopped in his tracks when he spotted the oh so familiar ghost standing in front of the window in the living area, his back to Tom.

_Just a dream, _he reminded himself as he stared at Bills transparent, glowing form. Bill was dead, Bill was a ghost, and Bill most definitely wasn't going to come back to life anytime soon. Although Tom did find it slightly strange that the ghost was still there; he wasn't sure if Bill actually went away, or just lurked while invisible, but the ghost rarely ever showed himself at night. Tom hoped that it was because Bill had the decency to go away and give him some privacy while he slept, at least.

The dreadlocked man poured himself a glass of water, and Bill looked over his shoulder. Tom sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, leaning his elbows against the surface of the table. He felt wide awake, and knew that there would be no chance of drifting back to sleep tonight.

The ghost was turned away from him again, looking out the window, the palms of his see-through hands resting against the window sill.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Bills voice was nearly inaudible. Tom paused for a bit before answering.

"Can't," he replied, "shouldn't you be… where ever it is you usually go at night?"

"No," the ghost answered firmly. Something in the tone of Bills voice told Tom not to press on with the subject. And then there was silence yet again. Tom absently tapped his fingers against the table top, looking up when Bill turned to watch him again.

"You had a bad dream."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and Tom paled. He wondered if Bill could somehow manipulate peoples dreams; maybe the nightmare was all his doing, maybe he had some kind of creepy talent for that.

"I heard you yelling out," Bill added upon seeing Toms startled face. Tom exhaled. Of course. He was just overreacting again.

"Oh," the dread-head muttered. "Oh, yeah." Tom drained the last of the water from the glass and set it down on the table with a _clunk. _He bit at his bottom lip anxiously; there was a question burning in the back of his mind since he had woken up from the nightmare.

"Bill?"

The ghost turned to look at Tom again. He was a little surprised that Tom had actually called him by his name; something that he had only done once before.

"What's it…" Tom trailed off, fiddling with the hem of his too-big shirt. "…What's it like to die?" Bill looked at him with an expression akin to shock; Tom was… _normal, _for once, not yelling at him, and seemingly interested in the ghost. This was a little strange.

"It's… I mean, I guess it's different for everyone," Bill began slowly, drifting closer to the other man. "For me… it was horrible; you can't even imagine." The ghost paused, and Tom suppressed the urge to ask him to continue. He didn't know if Bill was able to talk about his death or not; maybe it was a touchy subject.

"The only thing on my mind was hoping to God I'd die on impact," Bill muttered. "But, I didn't."

"Ugh." Tom made a face at the ghost. "Please, _please _don't go into detail."

Bill shot him a glare. "Hey, you _asked. _But I won't, because I don't really remember anything other than the excruciating pain when I hit the pavement, and having my soul torn from my body after I died in the hospital."

"Oh, my God," Tom mumbled, and Bill looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Why are you so interested in me, all of a sudden?"

The dreadlocked man shrugged weakly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I don't know. Because you're… interesting…" he finished lamely. "But… having your soul _torn _from your body? Is it painful?"

"No," Bill shook his head, "I couldn't really feel it. Your soul just sort of drifts apart from your body. It's weird; I can't explain it. You still feel like _yourself _somehow, I didn't think anything of it until I looked behind me and saw my own body laying in the hospital bed, and then I finally realized what had happened." The ghost chuckled lightly. "Now _that _was messed up."

"And then what, you just came back as a ghost, and that was it?" Tom asked, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms across his chest.

"No, after your souls left your body, you get sent to a place for the deceased," Bill replied. "The afterlife, I guess. You get to choose whether you want to return to the world as a ghost, or move on."

"Move on?"

"Yeah, but I don't know what happens or where you go, since I was obviously too afraid to leave everything behind. Which is why I chose to come back as a spirit."

"So you can go back to your family and everything, and still talk to them and stuff? Is that why you wanted to return as a ghost?" The dread-head questioned, watching Bill with interest. The ghost gave a firm shake of his head.

"No, definitely not," he answered. "One of the main rules when you return to the world: it's forbidden to contact _anyone _you knew while alive. Sure, you can watch them from afar, but you can't show yourself or speak to them. Ever."

"That must be awful," Tom said, voice barely above a whisper. Bill nodded in agreement.

"You have no idea."

Bill sat in the chair across from Tom, his mood seeming to lighten considerably.

"I told you about me, now you tell me about you."

"There's nothing to tell you, really," Tom said, grabbing the glass that was previously set on the table top. He felt like he needed to occupy his hands, somehow. He allowed his fingers to ghost across the smooth rim of it, and focused on staring intently at the floor.

"Oh, c'mon, your turn," Bill implored. "Don't be so stubborn."

"There's nothing to tell you," Tom repeated. "I'm boring, Seriously."

"_Tooooooooom," _Bill whined, looking at the dreadlocked male with a pout. "I told you my life story, now tell me yours!"

"_Life _story?" Tom snickered. "You told me about dying. That's hardly your life story."

"Whatever, I still told you."

The nineteen year old let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. He couldn't stop a tiny smile from forming on his lips. "Maybe some other time."

"Promise?"

"Promise," Tom sighed again. "Because I know you won't take no for an answer." Bill clapped his hands together soundless and practically squealed. Tom winced, and let out a laugh. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe he had already completely lost his mind, but he seemed to be able to tolerate Billnow.

_Maybe, _he thought, _maybe this really isn't _so _bad…_

_

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_**Super quick update! I'm actually happy with this chapter, for once. Weird, I know. XD**  
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